THE   ROBERT   E,  COWAN  COLLECTION 

I'KKSKNTKI)    TO    Till: 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

B\ 

C.  P.  HUNTINGTON 

c-JUNE.   1897. 


Recession 


Class  No, 


FefnwQod 


Tribute  to  Our 
Pioneer 


"LOVE    OF    TRUTH." 

My  days  of  youth,  tho'  not  from  folly 
I  prize  the  truth  the  more  the  world  I 
I'll  keep  a  straight  and  narrow  path, 
Lead  on  where'er  it  may — 
The  voice  of  truth  I'll  follow  and  obe1 


NOTE — The  picture  of  the  '49  School  I 
accompanied  by  the  above  stanza 
in  harmony  within  the  memories 
pioneer  pupils  of  San  Francisco.  ' 
the  structure  is  used  as  a  Chines 
house. 


'49  School  House. 


Mission  Dolores — the  old  and  the  new. 


49  to  '94. 


....  RESPECTFULLY    INSCRIBED .... 


TO    THE 


Native  Sons  and  Daughters 


IN  TRIBUTE  TO 


Our    F*ioneer    Matron®. 


HONOR    THY   FATHER   AND    THY  MOTHER. 


SAN  FRANCISCO: 

Upton  Bros.,  Printers  and  Bookbinders,  417  Montgomery  St 
1894. 


So 

* 


These  soft-voiced  "  Fernwood  Leaves  "  please  take, 

View'd  kindly  for  sweet  mem'rie's  sake, 

And  all  the  honor  we  would  throw 

O'er  names  revered  since  long  ago  ; 

You'll  love  me  best,  I  know  you  will, 

When  my  soft  voice  is  silent — still — 

Forever-more,  to  know  that  I — 

Would  not  permit  these  names  to  die, 

That  I  have  dared,  though  pen  so  weak, 

To  voice  the  chord  our  hearts  bespeak. 

Live  !  those  mem'ries  prized  by  others, 

Proudly  peerless,  pioneer  mothers  ; 

Live,  in  the  hearts  of  all  mankind, 

As  in  our  mem' ry  justly  shrined  ; 

Proudly  our  Natives-born  display, 

The  character  which  lives  alway  ; 

From  pioneer  ancestry  great, 

Blending  the  best  of  every  trait, 

Crowns  California  the  Golden  State. 


sriYERSITY 

ifORHA^ 


FERNWOOD  LEAVES. 

'49 — California's   Pioneers,— 


5 

ULL  four  and  forty  years  ago, 
There  stemm'd  the  tide  and  plough' d  the  snow, 
A  goodly  host,  a  lively  crew, 
Hardy  of  nerve  and  sinew,  too  ; 

Some  came  by  land  a  long  trail  through, 

Still  more  around  Cape  Horn  had  sped, 

Honest,  plucky  and  go-ahead  ; 

Others  by  Isthmus  early  came, 

To  reach  the  tract  of  "Golden  "  fame  ; 

Many  "  came  West,  in  early  time," 

But  few  are  left  of  '49. 

Out  of  the  Old  World  swell'd  a  stream, 

Souls  elated  with  gorg'ous  dream, 

Full  and  sturdy,  stout,  true  and  bold — 

Just  the  builders  of  banks  of  gold. 

Not  this  alone  they  sought — far  more — 

They  yearned  to  reach  the  new-famed  shore 

Where  Freedom's  eagle  wings,  stretched  wide, 

Held  her  children  from  tide  to  tide, 

Shelt'  ring  from  harm  on  ev'  ry  side. 

Such  were  the  souls  that  cross' d  the  Line, 

In  blust'ring  days  of  '49. 

Eighteen  hundred  and  forty-nine — 
Few,  may  now  remember  the  time, 
Honor  was  honor,  gold  was  gold, 
Metals  only  barter' d  and  sold  ; 
"Ne'er  a  wolf  in  the  early  fold." 


-4- 

The  foremost  men  who  swell' d  the  throng, 

Honest,  sinewy,  girt  and  strong, 

Clear-headed,  bold,  stout-hearted,  firm, 

Never  too  proud  to  list'  to  learn, 

Come  to  battle,  to  temper  in. 

To  gather  a  fortune — a  "  pile,"  or  "  tin  ;  " 

Eager  t'  ' '  shoulder  pick  and  shovel, " 

Willing  t'  live  in  tent  or  hovel ; 

Leading  spirits  to  thrive,  to  cheer, 

Builders  of  States — ye  Pioneer. 

Then  womanhood  came,  oh  !  why  came  they  here  ? 

To  'bide  by  their  husbands,  to  help  and  to  cheer — 

Aye,  take  up  such  work  as  his  hands  found  to  do, 

Adapting  themselves  to  the  rough,  wierd  and  new, 

Adopting  brogans  or  a  tarpaulin  brim, 

Quite  as  necessity  catered  them  in, 

With  China-crepe  shawl,  or  a  bright  satin  gown, 

When  never  a  print  could  be  had  in  the  town ; 

But  fashion's  frail  follies  ne'er  worried  these  wives. 

Who  came  to  build  households — devoting  their  lives 

To  the  cause  of  their  country,  humanity,  God, 

Then  silently  sinking  to  rest  'neath  our  sod  ; 

Aye,  silently — scarcely  remember' d  by  name, 

Yet,  honor  we,  women  of  pioneer  fame. 


A  *49-er. 

Master- man  came  not  all  alone, 
Some,  the  dear  ones  "brought  out  from  home," 
Cross  desert  plain,  or  treach'rous  foam, 
Wives  too  timid  to  stay  "  back  thar," 
And  stand  "  the  chafe  grass-widder's  bar  ; 
Too  nervous  "  home  "  to  take  their  ease, 
With  son  or  husband  'yond  the  seas, 
Finding,  per  chance,  an  unknown  grave. 
Ah  !  what  makes  tender  woman  brave  ? 


-5- 

Unselfish  love  doth  risk,  doth  crave, 
And  dares  be  firm,  and  strong  in  life. 
Nor  worse  the  foe,  nor  worse  the  strife. 

Aye,  thus  to  motherhood  is  giv'n, 

This  grace,  direct  from  highest  Heav'n, 

To  cling  to  husband,  children,  God, 

Through  weal,  through  woe,  till  'neath  the  sod 

As  Ivy  true,  near  ancient  hall, 

Closely  holds  to  the  shelt'ring  wall, 

Where  storms  most  beat  and  rains  most  fall, 

'Midst  dire  privations,  stout  and  calm, 

Whose  hopes  discouragements  disarm, 

Whose  faith  guides  man  from  Satan's  charm  ; 

The  tie  which  God  to  man  has  giv'n, 

To  lead  him  forth  from  earth  to  Heav'n, 

And  sanctifying  motherhood, 

Whence  claim  we  Christian  brotherhood. 

Some  liv'd  "close  e'en  a  most  the  mill," 

Next  Dare-De'il  Dick,  or  Champion  Bill, 

Two  Yankee  miners  "  abaft  the  hill  ;  " 

Else,  down  near  Potrero  Bay, 

Where  Digger  Indians  wont  to  stray, 

Wi'  Italian  fishermen  all  day, 

To  gather  drift-wood,  by  the  way  ; 

Or  digs  for  clams  the  grave  Chinese, 

In  water  even  to  their  knees  ; 

Or  where  the  valley  streams  abound, 

'Midst  grain-clad  undulating  ground, 

Where  French  and  Spanish  tents  are  found  ; 

Poor,  true  quaint  tillers  of  the  soil, 

Who  put  their  sturdy  hands  to  toil  ; 

Where  Dutch  and  Irish,  if  you  please, 

Fling  open  grocery-bars — for  ease — 

But  here,  I'd  have  you  understand, 

Saloons? — "war'nt  one  in  all  the  land." 

Hotels  are  English  to  the  core, 

With  lodgings  scatt'ring  by  the  score, 

And  landlords  looming  to  the  fore  ; 

Americans  take  up  the  rest, 

Here,  rustlers,  hustlers  were  the  test ; 

Yet,  to  my  mind  reverts  not  clear, 

Of  Lord  or  Lady  pioneer, 

Or  melting  blonde,  or  snobbish  beau, 

"Aw,  'twould' nt  do — aw — well,  you  know, 

"Muscle  and  brain — aw — needed  so, 

"Not  aw — quite  aw — well-balanced  tho'." 

Now,  German  cousins  came  ashore, 

And  Scottish  clans  with  ancient  lore; 

From  England,  Wales  and  Ireland  poured, 

Their  stoutest  hearts,  a  noble  horde. 


—  6  — 

Just  the  element  needed'came, 
To  raise  the  sea-coast  city'sjfame, 
Ere  the  region  was  State  in  name. 


The  New  Church  and  the  Old  Chapel  and  School. 

Then,  now,  be  it  now,  my  great  joy  to  tell, 

How  th'  news  came  to  us — by  the  chapel  bell, 

From  th'  wee  low  hut  in  the  chaparral, 

With  cross,  black-painted,  flat,  over  the  door, 

That  bell  rang  out  grander  than  ever  before, 

Wild  crowds  caught  th'  'peal  with  a  deaf 'ning  roar, 

California's  a  State  forever  more. 

From  cot  on  the  slope  of  sage-brush  and  sand, 
Sacramento  and  Pow'll  streets  now  cross  the  land, 
A  woman  stood  holding  th'  flag  in  her  hand ; 
And  quick  as  each  joyous,  liquid,  note, 
Clang' d  out  from  the  bell's  metallic  throat, 
Ringing  its  way  on  the  air  afloat, 
Amanda  Pelton,  obscure  to  fame, 
Most  gentle,  gen'  rous,  loveable  dame, 
Proud,  patr'otic,  as  pioneers  are, 
Happy  to  know  our  "home"  was  a  star, 
Admitted  upon  th'  "Spangled  Blue," 
Flaunted  that  flag  with  energy  true. 


Hurrah  !  hurrah!  with  a  "tiger"  loud, 
WelFd  from  the  lungs  of  the  noisy  crowd  ; 
From  many  a  burnt-brown  cheek  was  wrung, 
A  heart-glad  tear  when  th'  flag  being  flung, 
Announced  to  all,  our  freedom  won  ! 
State-hood  accepted,  our  anthem  to  be, 
Vive,  la  America  !     Land  of  the  free. 

So,  as  the  first  public  school  rose  in  the  State, 

'Twas  ^Amanda  M.  Rey  trudged  early  and  late, 

Beside  her  strong  husband  stout-hearted  as  he, 

In  all,  but  too  proud,  that  our  schools  should  be  free, 

She  gather' d  and  won  th'  young  hearts  to  her  side, 

While  he  to  executive  duties  applied; 

Hence  when  our  next  annals  recordeth  the  truth, 

Forgot  not  the  matron  who  guided  our  youth, 

Forgot  not  the  teacher-wife  toiled  night  and  day, 

'Midst  pain  and  privation,  without  praise  ar  pay. 

Thou  proud  son  and  daughter  guard  fondly  th'  sod, 

Which  shrouds  th'  veil'd  dust  of  the  soul  gone  to  God 

With  glad  thrill  of  dutious  pleasure,  I  here 

Write  name  of  this  matron — our  own  pioneer. 

This  the  day  from  earliest  date, 

We  then,  and  now  still  celebrate, 

Eighteen  fifty,  September  nine, 

That's  the  date — November  the  time, 

School  children  rank  and  file  in  line, 

Some  so  young,  or  very  small, 

Barely  could  toddle  along  at  all. 

Miss  Davis  crowned  "California"  great, 

Sat  on  a  freight-truck  in  loyal  state, 

Still  proudly  remembers  her  happy  fate. 

Dense  crowds  pressing  forward  with  lusty  shout, 

Demanding  "What's  this  yer  'prade  all  about?  " 

Hurrah  !  'rah  !  'rah  !  'rah  !  was  the  ringing  cry, 

Along  the  line  as  the  children  passed  by. 

Seventeen  seventy-six,  I  opine, 

On  opposite  shore  of  the  Rocky  line, 

Was  here  re-enacted  September  nine, 

The  occasion  later,  no  less  sublime. 

These  earliest  bold,  are  the  ones  we  hold, 

As  richer  by  far  to  our  land  than  gold  ; 

These  brave  heart's  the  hereos  our  States  revere, 

Brain,  muscle  and  sinew,  our  pioneer. 

Swarmed  in  '50  from  every  port, 

Social  strata  of  every  sort, 

Assured  the  way  was  clearly  pav'd, 

By  those  who  struggl'd,  delv'd  and  sav'd; 

Knowing  all  hearts  were  trustful  then, 

Men  were  brothers  and  brothers  men  ; 


*Mrs.  Amanda  M.  R.  Pelton. 


All  met  welcome,  what  creed  or  clime, 
In  grand  old  days  of '49. 

Why  not  ?     The  banner  of  our  brave, 
That  flag,  our  country's  father  gave, 
Held  innate  charm,  the  pow'r  to  save. 
"Hoop  la  !  "  a  miner  yells  through  tears, 
(He'd  not  beheld  that  flag  for  years) 
When  from  the  top-mast-head  there  leers, 
Hoisting  aloft  mid  noisy  cheers, 
Our  flag,  by  one  of  our  "Pioneers." 
July  the  Fourth,  of  course  "the  boys" 
Paraded  'round  with  wonted  noise; 
Bunting  and  flags  so  rare  to  view, 
They  sang  encore  "Red,  White  and  Blue" 
Till  morn,  ye  Pioneers  so  true. 
'50 — September  Ninth,  the  time — 
Aye,  all  the  fifties  fell  in  line, 
Each  year  forming  a  theme  sublime, 
For  then  our  freedom  was  made  known, 
And  California — our  very  own. 

Native  Sons  and  Daughters  we  sing, 

Land  this  day  !  let  the  welken  ring  ; 

Daughters,  sons,  of  the  native  sod, 

For  this  day  thank  the  living  God. 

Bring  together  North,  South,  East,  West, 

Pride  is  meet  for  the  first  and  best ; 

Well,  we  know  there's  a  certain  ring, 

To  all  good  metal  sounded  in, 

Nor  none  can  tell  to  dot  so  fine, 

None  loves  better  the  golden  chime, 

Than  those  who  camp'd  in  '49. 

Listen  again,  will  ye  not  believe, 

The  truth  was  ne'er  written  to  deceive — 

From  August  to  March,  come  shine  or  rain, 

Green  grass  and  flow'rs  spread  over  the  main  ; 

All  over  the  valley  stretching  wide, 

Down  the  slope  of  hills,  up  the  mountain's  side, 

And  far  as  the  eye  can  scan  the  plain, 

Nodding  in  greeting,  laughed  golden  grain, 

Dipping  their  yellow  heads  one  by  one, 

Rippling  out  merriment,  full  of  fun, 

Shaking  in  mirth  at  the  passing  breeze, 

Wild  oats  and  barley,  that  grow  to  please — 

To  please  the  nature  that  bids  them  grow, 

So  laughingly  bending  to  and  fro. 

On,  on,  far  out  beyond  yon  plain, 

See  !  the  nodding  gold-headed  grain, 

Bending  down  to  the  very  shore, 

Seething  billows  of  golden  ore, 


"Sowing  wild  oats  here,"  they  say, 

Sow  !  when  they  grow  from  mountain  way, 

Hands-high  down  to  the  sand-girt  bay? 

O,  glorious  sight  this  molten  main, 

Bright  billows  of  living,  golden  grain. 

Lo  !  the  poppy's  rich  golden  crown, 

From  regal  heights  shot  shimm'ring  down, 

Wild  one,  voiced  by  all  together, 

Native  queen  o'  th'  spangled  heather ; 

Sure,  nowhere  else  beyond  our  seas 

Were  known  to  flourish  gems  like  these  ; 

Rich  as  color  of  golden  ore, 

Pale  or  deep  as  its  varied  store ; 

As  if  its  tender  rootlets  drew, 

From  hidden  mines  its  gorgeous  hue, 

To  bring  the  treasure -trove  to  view, 

Native  queen  of  the  golden  shore, 

Gold  was  the  gown,  the  crown  she  wore. 

'  Midst  wooden  glen  or  mountain  crest, 

We  find  in  lavish  colors  dressed, 

The  Mariposa  tulip  fair — 

Butterfly  lily,  I  declare  ; 

Call  it  by  any  name  you  will, 

It  is  the  rarest  blossom  still  ; 

Not,  as  its  sister  Iris  drew, 

Mixed  colors  from  the  rainbow's  hue, 

But  all  known  tints  are  blended  in, 

With  dawn  of  a  fairy's  spangled  wing. 

Then  the  fern,  tender,  loving  fern, 

On  mount  or  hill,  where  rivers  turn 

In  torrents  force  to  mock  the  gale, 

Or  wander  idly  through  the  vale  ; 

Deep  in  the  heart  of  wood  or  fen, 

In  forest  glades,  or  sylvan  glen, 

E'en  far  beyond  the  haunts  of  men  ; 

The  fronds  so  delicately  fine, 

Fair  neighbor  of  the  stately  pine, 

'  Gainst  yon  horizon  face  in  line 

Mount  Tamalpais,  upon  thy  breast, 

Or  answ'ring  to  the  sea's  unrest, 

That  floats  upon  the  inland  bay, 

In  bending,  murmuring  seems  to  say  : 
'To  tell  you  much,  my  heart  doth  burn, 
To  the  fernwoods  go  !  seek  the  living  fern  ; 
'Far  out  where  the  bracken  lies  loose  and  deep, 
'And  the  maiden  hair  ferns  into  solitude  creep  ; 
'Go  !  sip  of  the  nectar  the  wild  woods  hold, 
'Air  perfumed,  and  sunshine  far  richer  than  gold.' 

Yet  more  the  sand-dunes  stretching  wide, 

Broken  or  shifting,  meets  the  tide, 

Hilly  or  low,  as  the  case  may  be, 


Reaching  the  cliffs  that  girt  the  sea  ; 
Line  'twix  the  grain  and  ocean  spray, 
Flat'ning"  a  beach  to  skirt  the  bay, 
Whither  all  people  love  to  stray, 
Sabbaths  or  common  holiday. 
The  sand-dunes  be  it  said  at  best, 
So  close  to  the  sound  of  the  sea's  unrest, 
With  sage-brush  and  chaparral  are  drest ; 
And  struggling  within  this  closeness  bound, 
Yerba  Buena's  sweet  herbs  were  found, 
And  fair  and  rare  as  ever  grew, 
Sweet  flow'rs  blossom' d  and  sipp'd  the  dew. 


Seal  Rocks,  S.  F. 

Come  to  the  Cliffs,  at  the  sun-set  hour, 
Would  ye  feel  touch  of  Nature's  power  ; 
Shout !  to  the  sea,  the  answ'ring  locks, 
Resound  and  bound  mid  the  scatter' d  rocks, 
Scream  ye,  stop  ! — stop,  is  echoed  plain, 
Giant  oaks  catch  the  loud  refrain, 
And  shake  their  sides  with  laughter  wild, 


—  II  — 


Noting  Nature  so  quaint  and  mild, 

Making  game  of  a  human  child. 

Thou  pale  brooding  spirit  of  night, 

Settling  over  the  landscape,  quite 

Fills  the  scene  with  a  calm  repose, 

A  balm  the  lover  of  Nature  knows. 

Alone  ?     Not  so — now  listen,  hark  ! 

Heard  ye  echoes?     Aye,  more — a  bark, 

Your  ha!  is  re-echoed  ha!  ha! 

Strangely  followed  by  odd  wha!  wha! 

Just  as  you'  own,  'tis  dusk  of  night, 

Chill  sensations  of  ghastly  fright, 

Makes  you  feel  per-cept-a-bly  white. 

Aha!  a  series  of  snorts  and  whiffs, 

Remind  you  seals  are  at  the  Cliffs — 

Sea-dogs,  call'd  from  their  canine  bark, 

Foretelling  gales — by  seamen's  chart, 

With  spirit  kin  to  angry  storm, 

Your  temper's  sooth' d,  your  heart  grows  warm 

Good  cliff  denizens,  gruff  and  great, 

Guarding  the  reefs  of  Golden  Gate, 

In  evening's  wane  or  nightly  gloom, 

To  cruisers,  signal  pending  doom. 

Storming  the  Cliffs,  they  cry  with  dread  : 

Keep  out — keep  off — breakers  ahead. 

Golden  Gate  by  the  sunset  beam, 
Guard  of  the  State  of  gilded  sheen, 
Cliff-pillar' d-glint  with  gleaming  ore, 
Deep  from  the  heart  of  lust'rous  lore. 
Our  country's  God  looked  kind  on  these, 
And  set  the  seals  to  keep  the  seas  ; 
Prowls  o'er  the  mountain  passes  there, 
Grimly  on  guard,  the  grizzly  bear. 
Next,  to  place  the  wily  "cayote, " 
With  smoothly-glossy,  silken  coat, 
Miners  know  by  a  single  note: 
Scarce  from  the  prairie  he  dare  stray, 
Or  past  the  plateau  seek  his  prey, 
Making  night  hedious,  with  his  foul 
Churlish  yelp  and  snappish  howl — 
Demonlike  noiseless  sneaks  away 
As  Venus  blinking  welcomes  day, 
The  wood-dove  greets  his  cooing  mate, 
The  mist-forms  glide  through  Golden  Gate, 
The  air  sweet  laden  with  perfume, 
And  resonant  with  wild-birds'  tune, 
All  life  joins  praise  to  God,  that  He 
Made  land  so  valued,  bright  and  free. 


—  12 


Another  pioneer  wife — for  shame, 

Our  annals  ignore  her  simple  name, 

Albeit,  her  husband,  leaped  to  fame. 

One  simple  stanza  may  I  indite, 

No  fitter  epitaph  need  I  write, 

Depicting  the  striking,  sinking  pow'r, 

The  heart's  deep  sense  of  his  "parting  hour." 

Alas!  for  his  sad  untimely  fate, 

Pollack  soon  ventured  beyond  the  "gate," 

And  often  his  "parting  hour"  to  mind, 

Brings  dear  ones  he  sadly  left  behind, 

Struggling  to  live  in  these  early  days, 

When  struggling  meant  a  million  of  ways. 

Herein  the  fact  of  the  matter  lies, 

With  husband  she  came  a  sacrifice, 

Prone  on  the  altar  ofdut'ous  hope, 

Deed  most  heroic,  boundless  in  scope, 

T  advance  with  his  step,  grasp  with  his  hand 

Glory  and  love  for  this  wild,  lone  land, 

Sifting  the  gold  from  the  drifting  sand, 

Setting  rare  gems  with  a  master  touch, 

Seeing  and  knowing  the  worth  so  much. 

Thus  Mary  Pollock  we  later  heard, 

With  her  three  boys,  but  never  a  word, 

Struggled  for  bread  both  early  and  late, 

In  their  lone  hearth  by  the  Golden  Gate, 

Till  she  raised  her  sons  to  man's  estate. 

Tasks  as  these,  many  women  have  done, 

In  pioneer  life,  out  West  begun  ; 

Many  the  daughter,  many  the  son, 

Extolling  such  virtues — these  know  best, 

Daughters  and  sons  of  the  wide,  gold  west. 


Mining  During  the  50'$. 


THE  PARTING  HOUR. 

There's  something  in  the  parting  hour, 
Will  cheer  the  warmest  heart, 

Yet  kindred  comrades,  lovers'  friends, 
Are  fated  all  to  part  ; 


But  this  I've  seen  and  many  a  pang, 
Has  pressed  it  on  my  mind, 

The  one  that  goes  is  happier, 
Than  those  he  leaves  behind." 


— Edward  Pollock. 


Still  one  more  name  in  bold  relief, 
Out  from  the  shades  of  pain  and  grief, 
From  thy  echoless  tracks,  O,  Time  ! 
Shaping  the  age  of  '49. 
One  mother  heart  and  three  small  babes, 
From  early  sun,  till  evening  fades, 
Cast  round  the  sluce-box  picking  dust, 
Treading  the  mill-race  'cause  they  must, 
Watching  the  rocker  as  help  or  change 
Up  near  the  old  Nevada  range. 
'Tending  her  brothers,  this  wee  girl, 
Sang,  till  the  camps  were  set  in  whirl 
Of  excitement — 'twas  said  :  "You  bet, 
Train  her,  she'll  make  her  fortune  yet." 
Soon  impromptu  concerts  they  gave, 
Lotta  sang,  and  her  heart  grew  brave, 
The  banjo  miners  lov'd,  learn' d  she, 
Her  sweet  young  voice  so  pure,  so  free, 
By  nature's  gift  a  pow'r  to  be. 
Yes,  lately  now  is  the  father — dead — 
Saying  that,  need  ought  more  be  said  ? 
"Let  the  grim  past  bury,"  instead. 
This  matron  only  knew  the  care, 
How  her  three  helpless  babes  might  fare, 
She  needs  go  out  to  earn  their  bread, 
They  clinging  to  her  skirts  in  dread. 
At  length  by  every  chance  and  rule, 
Lotta  attends  the  village  school  ; 
Her  voice — the  house,  the  vale  it  fills, 
And  every  human  soul  it  thrills  ; 
That  child's  angelic  voice  in  fine, 
Leads  to  her  mother  Fortune's  mine. 
Parent  and  child  together  cling, 
As  years  roll  out  and  years  roll  in  ; 
The  filial  love  of  this  dear  one, 
Is  nobly  grand  to  look  upon, 
As  nobly  kept,  as  nobly  won, 
We,  Charlotte  Crabtree's  name  revere — 
Honored  Mother  and  Pioneer. 
Year  fifty-one,  September  nine, 
Pioneers  well  remind  the  time, 
The  weather  clear,  day  grandly  fine, 
No  art,  nor  verse  can  ever  throw, 
Over  that  picture  brighter  glow ; 


—  14  — 

The  most  that  can  be  done  by  pen, 
Might  help  dim  mem'ry  now  and  then. 
Fresh  springs  the  mem'ries  of  the  child, 
Untremmerd  from  the  early  wild, 
Who  formed  the  feature  of  the  day, 
Who  joy' d  to  own  to  Freedom's  sway  ; 
Trooping  from  out  the  one  free  school, 
Proving  how  soon  is  learned  the  rule, 
That  union,  liberty  with  life, 
Is  amply  worth  all  early  strife. 
These  pioneer  babes  were  muster'd  in, 
With  clang  of  guns  and  muskets'  ring, 
And  one  brass  band  with  welcome  din; 
All  marching  with  a  right  good  will, 
Rounding  up  steep  Telegraph  Hill 
They  bound,  oft'  breaking  ranks  to  fill 
Their  hats  with  oats  and  feather-grass, 
Or  chase  the  blue  flies  as  they  pass. 
Now  group' d  or  scatt'ring  far  and  wide, 
Around  the  steep  hill's  verdant  side, 
Lunching,  chatting  till  even-tide  ; 
Or  list'ning  to  the  soft  guitar, 
Wooing  the  sea-breeze  near  and  far, 
While  waltzes  and  sweet  fangandoes  play'  d 
Were  lightly  danced  by  youth  and  maid, 
Till  loud,  the  band  deserving  wake, 
Anthems  lov'd  for  our  nation's  sake. 
Aye,  and  the  day  was  most  sublime, 
A  motley  crew  press' d  into  line, 
Mechanics,  sailors,  miners,  they 
One  and  the  other  wore  that  day, 
The  fabled  blouse  of  woolen  red, 
Panama  hat  on  unshown  head, 
Long  silk-scarf  belt,  and  shuffling  tread  ; 
Kanaka,  Mexican  and  Chinee, 
Dutch,  English,  Irish  and  Yankee, 
French,  Negro,  Spanish  and  Moari, 
All  jubilant  together, 
Enjoying  sun  and  heather, 
Bright  California  weather ; 
Surely,  nigh  winter,  but  no  sign 
Yet  of  the  passing  year's  decline, 
Indeed,  I've  said  the  day  was  fine. 

There,  in  cosmopolitan  style — 

"  Say,  pard,  hev'  ye  be'n  here  long  while," 

Came  the  woman,  and  who  so  charms, 

As  she  who  clasps  a  babe  in  arms, 

There,  maid  and  matron,  sweethearts,  wives, 

You  ne'er  saw  such  a  sight  in  your  lives  ; 

Handsome,  plain,  good-looking,  pretty, 


— 15  — 

. 

Dull,  refined,  uncouth  or  witty, 

Met  on  one  level — to  take  part, 

To  strive  their  best,  each  eager  heart ; 

Never  more  toilsome,  irksome  fate, 

They  came  to  build  the  Golden  State, 

Ere  muster'd  out  'yond  Golden  Gate. 

Ah  !  what  so  gilds  the  veriest  cloud, 

Reflected  light  from  the  Day  King's  shroud, 

The  mantle  grey  obscuring  his  form, 

Is  flushed  with  tintings  mellow  and  warm. 

Thus,  with  the  soul  will  to  do,  and  dare, 

Reflecting,  reflected,  all  may  share ; 

Not  strange  then,  individuals  claim, 

A  share  in  our  land,  its  care,  its  fame. 

So  these,  amid  darkest  frowns  of  fate, 
Reached  Devil's  Gulch,  by  Golden  Gate; 
Planting  God's  faith  in  hearts  grown  bold, 
Steering  his  helm  thro'  maze  of  gold, 
Teaching  their  babes  the  Law  Divine, 
Long  live  their  mem'ries  pure  sublime — 
Pioneer  mothers  of  '49. 

Telegraph  Hill  was  the  chosen  site, 

Long  teeming  with  happy  hearts  till  night, 

Till  just  as  the  wond'rous  genial  sun, 

Deciding  the  day  was  almost  done, 

Slid  cautious  to  where  the  day  star  slept, 

And  Vesper  her  twilight  vigals  kept, 


Telegraph  Hill,  S.  F. 

Amid  the  gathering  cloudlets  crept. 
Lingering  beside  the  Golden  Gate, 
Whereby  doth  pass  most  precious  freight, 
By  early  morn  or  night  tide  late, 
Out  to  the  unseen,  unknown  fate. 

As  rays  of  departing  sunshine  fell, 
Peal  upon  peal  rang  the  hill-top  bell, 
The  old  fog-bell  from  top  of  the  mill, 
Mill  structure  rough  on  brow  of  the  hill, 


—  i6  — 

Whose  platform  served  as  stageing  grand, 
For  speakers,  preachers  and  one  brass  band. 

The  rub-a-dub-dub,  rat-a-ta-ta, 
Brought  all  the  picnicers  near  or  far ; 
Professor  Pelton  spoke  to  the  babies, 
Preacher  Williams  addressed  the  ladies, 
Padre  Pedro  of  old  Saint  Francis,^ 
Spoke  of  our  country's  brilliant  chances, 
Ne'r  a  word  of  gad-around  dances. 

Patriotism  inspired  the  band, 
"Hail!  Columbia,  Happy  Land," 
Professor  merely  waved  his  hand, 
When  all  the  children  caught  the  strain, 
Till  the  old  mill  timbers  shook  again 
And  again,  with  the  waves  of  song, 
From  a  multitude  vast  and  strong. 

Cheers  for  "The  Red,  White  and  Blue"  rang  loud 

"  Star-Spangled  Banner"  "just  hit  the  crowd," 

Then  ' '  Home,  Sweet  Home ' '  subdued  and  soft, 

Full  eyes  fixed  on  the  flag  aloft, 

Or  seeks  the  green  turf 'neath  their  tread, 

Till  time  for  prayer  was  loudly  read. 

Mitred  Frair  and  Clerical  Tie, 

Chanced  to  meet  on  the  platform  high, 

Both  in  courtesy  seemed  to  vie  ; 

One  glance,  one  clasp,  they  understood, 

One  sire  of  Christian  Brotherhood, 

One,  the  same,  for  heathen  or  Jew, 

Who  dare  judge  the  mystery — who? 

Who  dare  say  to  his  brother  man: 

'Til  reach  Heaven  ;  you  never  can." 

"Judge  not,  lest  judged,  the  die  is  cast, 

"And  who  is  first,  may  yet  be  last; 

"Keeping  this  precept  close  in  view, 

"Love  each  other  as  I  love  you." 

Here  is  a  lesson  the  world  may  take  ; 

Deep  silence  fell,  the  minister  spake, 

"Bless  all,  O  God,  for  our  Saviour's  sake," 

Now  bending  low  with  uncover' d  head, 

While  words  of  praise  and  thanks  were  read, 

Pressed  a  heterogenious  band, 

Of  every  nation  throughout  the  land, 

In  prayer  on  blest  California's  strand. 

Hark  !  the  angelus-bell  sonorous, 
Ringing  from  old  Mission  Dolores, 
Comes  on  the  blustering  West-wind's  breath, 
As  winded  hound  puffs  in  at  the  death. 


One,  two,  three  !     The  first  signal  bore, 
The  message  the  angel  brought  of  yore, 
Ding,  ling,  dong,  the  next  talisman  sent, 
Down  on  their  knees  Senoritas  bent; 
Ding,  ding,  ding,  just  three  signals  more, 
Ci !  Signer,  bend  the  head  lower, 
See'st  thy  compadre  prostrate  adore, 
Adoring  God  without  vanity, 
In  this — for  His  son's  humanity — 
Vouchsafed  to  us  in  a  mystery 
Too  deep  for  mortal  ken  to  see. 

Answering  peals  from  the  hill-top  bell, 

Tenderly  soft  with  the  twilight  fell 

The  angelus  notes  in  silvery  chime, 

Swaying  the  air  in  rythmatic  time  ; 

And  now  the  Padre's  voice  essayed 

To  lead  the  motley  crowd  that  prayed 

"Our  Father  which  art  in  Heaven  " — fell 

In  cadience  sweetly  with  the  bell ; 

The  patre  and  aves,  said — and  then, 

The  minister  responds,  Amen. 

The  minister  rises — speaks  again  ? 

No,  sings — leads — an  anthem  sweeps  the  sea 

The  glorious  old  doxology; 

Lo  !  now,  in  reverent  pose  he  stands, 

The  aged  Padre  raised  his  hands, 

Invoking  blessings  on  each  and  all, 

Lo!  some  devotedly  prostrate  fall, 

Here  was  a  scene  to  endure  all  time, 

This  celebration,  September  nine. 

Another  scene  Californians  love  : 
There  loomed  all  around,  beyond,  above, 
Betwix  Twin  Peaks  and  North  Beach  cove, 
Brand  new  from  the  Vulcan  forge  of  Jove, 
A  girdle  of  molten  iron  and  gold, 
And  bands  of  orange,  with  purple  fold  ; 
Marvelous  blendings  of  light  and  shade, 
Swept  out  from  the  gilt  zone  full  displayed, 
Till  the  Golden  Gate  of  our  Western  sea, 
Was  radient  with  hallows  of  mystery. 


Golden  Gate. 


—  i8  — 

In  royal  purple,  and  gilt-edge  bright, 
Silvery  hangings,  red,  orange,  white, 
In  crimson  glory,  in  kingly  pride, 
Sol  passes  on  "to  the  other  side;" 
With  reverent  hearts  the  picnicers  go, 
To  tented  homes  'neath  the  sunset  glow. 

Ah!  this  is  the  sweet  refrain  we  hear, 
Health,  and  long  life  to  the  pioneer, 
Comfort,  good  will  and  hearty  cheer, 
The  same  to  all  they  hold  most  dear. 

Then  long,  long  live  this  natal  morn, 
When  pioneers  have  passed  life's  bourn, 
Never  forget  (I  need  not  say) 
Native  Sons  and  Daughters,  this  day, 
Forgive,  that  I  repeat  this  line  : 
Long  live  their  memories  pure  sublime, 
Pioneer  mothers  of '49. 

When  siege  of  dire  cholera  traversed  this  land, 

Came  from  the  Old  World  a  merciful  band, 

Sister  Francis  McGinness,  on  charity  bent, 

Her  great  heart  most  true  in  its  noble  intent, 

But  such  the  ungenerous  record  of  fame, 

Small  mention  is  made  of  her  endearing  name  ; 

Small  praise  is  bestowed  on  her  record  of  love, 

To  the  children  of  men — save  by  angels  above, 

That  native-born  daughters  and  sons  of  our  land, 

Should  glean  all  the  benefits  she  could  command, 

On,  on,  thro'  long  years  of  toil,  worry  and  strife, 

Devoting  all  care  to  the  task  of  her  life, 

To  the  cause  of  all  children — a  mother  at  heart, 

Education  was  foremost,  existence  in  part; 

When  parents — aye,  guardians,  neighbors  and  friend, 

Succumbed  to  the  plague — oh,  who  in  in  the  end, 

When  death  and  destruction  together  took  hand, 

"For  love  of  God  ' '  watcheth  and  prayeth — this  band; 

"For  love  of  God  "  sheltered  all  orphans  thus  left, 

To  friends  in  the  East  some  returned — some  bereft 

Of  every  earth-tie,  in  the  "Home"  chose  to  stay, 

And  are  living  now,  healthy,  proud  patriots  to-day. 

Pioneer  foibles  are  all  the  fad, 

Since  statehood  e'er  a  pioneer  had, 

But  who  shall  say,  that  '49-ers, 

With  their  families  were  worse  than  miners, 

Or  for  the  saying  "miners  were  rough," 

By  no  means  implies  that  they  were  tough, 

For  hands  that  were  brown,  brows  that  would  tan, 

Their  heart-throbs  proved  every  inch  a  man. 


—  19  — 

From  '46  to  '50  they  tried 
Living  with  Mexicans  curing  hide, 
Practiced  in  throwing  the  lariat, 
Racing  down  cattle  wicked  and  fat, 
Aiming  to  cook  at  the  Broncho  Ranch, 
Prospecting  too,  whenever  a  chance; 
By  intuition  the  least  child  knew, 
Workingmen  ever  are  best,  are  true. 
Only  'long  '54,  '5  and  '6, 
Came  West  "a  crew  of  yer  fancy  slicks," 
Cut-throats  and  gamblers  wi'  Monte  tricks, 
As  lawyers,  preachers,  aye  gentlemen, 
Vigilantes  soon  put  an  end  to  them, 
Having  no  use  for  such  "foreign  stuff," 
When  o'  toilers  we  hadn't  near  enough, 
"  Say,  pard,  we  never  tire  to  hear, 
"Seems  like — o'  the  life  o'  the  pioneer, 
"  What  'came  of  the  wimmin  all  this  time  ?  '' 
In  glorious  days  of  '49 

Aye,  once — just  once  in  all  these  years, 
*A  Native  Son,  extols,  reveres, 
The  memory  of  this  motherhood, 
This  band  of  noble  hearts,  and  good, 
While  dedicating  in  our  land, 
A  "  Mission"  Parlor  justly  grand — 
All  fame  deserved  to  our  pioneer, 
Disdain  not  the  mothers — 'tisn't  clear, 
That  our  Native  Sons'  and  Daughters'  vim, 
Honor  and  pluck  is  all  gained  from  him, 
I'll  ask  with  old  pard — say,  all  this  time, 
What  of  the  mothers  of '49. 

Fathers  and  brothers  struck  out  for  gold, 
Say,  were  those  mother-hearts  stone  cold  ? 
What  of  the  lambs  in  the  shepherd's  fold  ? 
Who  listed  the  sound  of  pattering  feet, 
O'er  the  broken,  unguarded  street? 
Watched  at  the  tent  with  stdfled  throb, 
Lest  disaster  her  home  might:  rob, 
Of  father  or  child  ere  day  was  done? 
That  soul  reached  out  'yond  the  setting  sun, 
In  search  of  the  all-absorbing  One — 
And  who  to-day  may  ever  know, 
This  faith  and  love's  consuming  glow, 
Although  God's  churches'  spires  were  less, 
God  lived  within  the  wilderness, 
Proud  manhood's  faith,  stout  women's  tears, 
Stout  manhood's  hopes,  proud  woman's  fears, 
Was  common  lot  of  our  pioneers. 

Full  five  and  forty  years  ago, 

To-day  how  many  hearts  beat  low,  ^*g!!S====i 

f  OF  THE 

,  at  F»p».  TNIVF. 


—  20  — 


Many  forms  'neath  the  sod  lays  low; 
How  many  names  may  we  re-call, 
Unto  our  State  have  been  all-in-all, 
Some  but  yesterday  drank  life's  mirth, 
Mingle  to-day — pioneer  earth. 
"Rough  and  ready"  their  time  to  bide, 
They've  safely  crossed  the  surging  tide. 

'Tis  Eighteen  Hundred  and  Ninety-four 
The  city  of  sunset,  looms  before 
Laden  with  rich  and  golden  lore; 
Out  to  the  park  ye  go,  and  there, 
Greets  you  the  sights  of  Midwinter  Fair, 
On  every  side  along  the  line, 
Reminders  of  '50  and  '49. 


"A  Native." 

Native  Daughters  and  Sons  with  pride, 
Count  blessings  and  favors  on  every  side, 
For  the  cities  built  up  so  great  and  grand, 
Have  sprung  from  the  stroke  of  the  master  hand 
Our  typical  press  bespeaks  to-day, 
The  nerve  and  push  that  makes  them  pay; 
Our  schools,  homes,  churches — all,  'tis  clear, 
Are  traced  to  the  sturdy  pioneer. 
Take  for  its  moral-worth  all  we  can, 
Pioneer  means  woman,  as  well  as  man; 
Long  live  their  memories  pure  sublime, 
The  sturdy  souls  of  pioneer  time. 


Heard  you,  the  tale  of  the  twin  Madrone, 
Amidst  the  plains  so  wide,  so  lone, 
Far  'yond  the  valley  of  San  Joaquin, 
Where  the  tule  looms,  close  and  green, 
'Yond  clumps  of  verdure  and  sweet  wild  rose, 
Such  scenery  every  miner  knows. 


Well,  once  be-times  as  the  story  goes, 

Two  fair  youths,  Ramon  and  Roselie, 

Of  Castile  one,  of  Mexico  she, 

Plights  their  truth  'neath  this  Madrone  tree; 

From  Reno  this  young  miner  came, 

On  noble  steed,  bringing  mountain  game 

To  Roselie' s  father,  herding  stock, 
Exchanging  for  cattle  best  ' '  quartz  rock  ; ' ' 
Gentle  Roselie,  with  face  like  dawn, 
Smilingly  bright,  with  step  like  the  fawn, 
She  lithe-limbed  skips  over  the  ranch, 
To  the  Rodero  or  Poker  Joe's  dance  ; 
Sweetly-expressive  eyes,  like  the  dove, 
Her  parents  vicing  in  pride  and  love, 
Towards  this  pure  child  of  the  woodland  free, 
Lovely,  yet  modest,  our  dear  Roselie. 
Loui  Ramon,  is  he  here  to-day, 
At  the  Rodero  to  enter  the  fray? 
Ci  !  Signer,   Ci  !  and  sure,  he  will  win, 
He's  just  the  metal — enter  him  in. 
Noble  his  features,  charming  his  mien, 
Proud,  fit  scion  of  Spain's  fair  queen, 
He  sits  the  saddle,  one  man,  one  beast, 
Proud  of  each  other,  but  says  the  least  ; 
Pride,  'tis  love,  can'st  fathom  the  art, 
Touching  the  human  and  creature's  heart ; 
Love  divine,  all-absorbing  grace, 
Mirrors  the  soul  on  the  human  face  ; 
Firmness,  patience  and  truth  in  train, 
Playing  the  features,  return  again, 
While  sympathies  kin  to  love  remain, 

Ha  !  they're  near,  watch  the  animal  prance, 

So  light  of  heart  he  well  might  dance  ; 

See !  the  rider's  hat  falls  on  the  sand, 

Caught  you  the  move?  his  hat's  in  his  hand  ; 

The  light  of  glad  life  leaps  to  his  eye, 

Cheerfully  greeting,  passing  us  by. 

Aha  !  note  the  power  of  the  magic  spell, 

You  who've  studied  the  creatures  well, 

Or  noticed  the  steeds  of  martial  ranks, 

Stand  still — a  tremor  sweeps  his  flanks, 

The  rich  blood  flows  thro'  each  bounding  vein, 

As  tide-waves  temper  the  restless  mane 

In  ripples  of  motion,  side  by  side, 

Over  the  beautiful,  glossy  hide. 

His  nostrils  wide  defiantly  spread, 

Proudly  he  bears  his  noble  head, 

Tenderly  soft,  his  liquid  eye  turns 

To  greet  him,  who  his  gratitude  earns. 


—  22  — 


To  shorten  the  sequel  of  this  verse, 
Ramon  wins  the  race,  also  the  purse  ; 
Crowds  pressing  close,  greets  him  with  pride, 
Shared  with  the  beautious  steed  at  his  side, 

What  !  —  whoa  !  —  so  anxious,  eager  to  start, 

For  the  mountains,  he  mus'nt  depart 

Till  we  banquet,  but  this  is  not  all, 

He  favors  the  groom,  who  'tends  his  call  ; 

His  eager  eye  searches  the  throng, 

His  heart  sinks  heavy  —  something's  wrong  ; 

Ah  !  near  her  father  beside  the  door, 

See,  such  a  lass,  such  a  youth  may  adore  ; 

He  such  a  youth,  such  a  lass  might  believe, 

Had  ne'er  been  born,  a  heart  to  deceive, 

Language  all  fails  to  discover, 

The  true-heart  gift  of  maid  and  lover, 

A  look,  a  glance  —  the  telegraph  bold 

Is  unerring  as  fate  —  the  story's  told. 

With  parental  blessings,  our  Ramon, 

With  Roselie  sped  to  yon  Madrone; 

A  few  suns  cycled  the  sanded  plain, 

Their  Padre  pronounced  but  one  the  twain  ; 

A  long,  long  life  enjoyed  they  here, 

Herding  their  cattle,  and  hunting  deer  ; 

Two  generations  have  silent  sped 

On,  aye,  and  both  are  heroes  are  dead  ; 

Settlers  aver,  for  Roselie  and  Ramon, 

Beneath  their  shade,  ever  sighs  the  madrone. 


Y 


ale. 


Before  we  close  the  final  page, 

I  may  in  personnel  engage, 

And  herein  grateful  thanks  bestow, 

On  those  whose  graceful  actions  show, 

Encouragement  and  sympathy, 

In  what-so-'ere  the  case  may  be. 

Unto  my  tender,  youthful  mind, 

These  hearts  I've  found  exceeding  kind, 

And  charge  these  simple  couplets  blend, 

In  tribute  to  each  pioneer  friend. 


To— 


My  own  Father  and  Mother,  Mrs.  Margaret  Van 
Reynegom,  Mrs.  Amelia  Pixley,  Mrs.  M.  A. 
Jones,  Mrs.  Sarah  B.  Cooper,  Mrs.  Barnet 
Keesing,  Mrs.  Wm.  G.  Wood,  Mme.  L.  A. 
Sorbier,  Sister  Xavier,  Rev.  H.  H.  Rice,  J.  C. 
and  Mrs.  Amanda  Pelton,  Rev.  Hugh  P. 
Gallagher,  Messrs.  A.  L.  Mann,  Jno.  Swett 
Jas.  Denman,  A.  Holmes,  H.  Carleton, 
J.  C.  Morrell.  Lawrence  and  Densmore, 


—  23  — 


7y 

OF  THE 

VERSITY 


Typical  Pioneer  Women. 


Mrs.  Minnie  Myrtle  Miller,  Era. 

Mrs.  Mary  T.  Austin,  Argonaut. 

Mrs.  Yda  Addis  Stokes. 

Mrs.  Leland  Stanford,  Stanford  Jr.  University. 

Mrs.  Crocker,  Old  Ladies'  Home. 

Jennette  A.  Phelps,  W.  C.  T.  Union. 

Ina  D.  CoolbrjjLith,  Poetess. 

Theresa  Yelverton,  Writer. 

Francis  Victor,  Historian. 

Emma  F.  Dawson,  "Old  Glory." 

Rose  H.  Thorpe,  "Curfew  Shall  Not  Ring  To-Night. 

Mrs.  Madge  M.  Wagner,  "Liberty  Bell." 

Mrs.  Rowena  G.  Steele,  first  California  Novelist. 

Mrs.  M.  B.  M.  Toland,  Society  Pioneers,  Charities. 

Mrs.  Jas.  R.  Deane,  '•  " 

Mrs.  Ira  P.  Rankin, 

Madame  Sorbier, 

Mrs.  Jessie  B.  Fremont,  Story  Writer. 

Mrs.  Louisa  A.  Off,  Los  Angeles,  Editor. 

Mrs.M.F.  C.  H.  Wood,   " 

Mrs.  Mary  Bowman,         " 

Mrs.  Margaret  Hosmer,  Dramatist. 

Miss  Harriet  Skidmore,  Poetess 


Page  4,    2d  line — read  :  sinewy-girt. 

"  9,  i  gth  "  wooded. 

"  n,  nth  "  just  as  yon  own  'tis  dusk,  etc. 

"  n,   3d  "  cliff-pilliar'd  glint  with,  etc. 

"  14,    4th  "  untrammel'd. 

"  14,  24th  "  while  waltze  and  sweet  fandangoes  play' d 

"  14,  33d  "  unshorn  head. 

"  15,  3ist  "  night-tide. 


VIAVI 


PURELY  A  VEGETABLE  COMPOUND 
AS  MUCH  A  FOOD  AS    A   MEDICINE 


THE  WANT  OF  THE  WORLD  is  strong, 
healthy  women.  Give  us  these  and  we  will  an- 
swer  for  the  race.  Nine  women  out  of  ten  are 
lacking  in  health  and  strength,  if  not  positively 
ill.  It  is  no  relief  from  your  troubles  to  hear 
them  described  in  smooth  Latin  terms ;  what  you 
want  is  a  cure  for  them,  and  not  pleasing  names 
for  unpleasant  things.  If  you  be  perfectly 
well,  you  have  no  occasion  to  use  our  remedy, 
but  yet  we  invite  you  to  send  for  our  Health 
Book  and  read  it  through.  If  you  believe  we  are 
speaking  the  truth,  you  are  then  in  a  position 
to  recommend  our  remedy  to  some  one  who  may 
be  in  need  of  it,  and  thus  be  the  means  of  bring- 
ing  to  another  the  blessings  which  you  happily 
enjoy 

The  Yiavi  Company, 

2301  Van  Ness  Ave., 

San  Francisco,  Cal. 


-:-  WOMEN'S  -:- 

Educational  and  Industrial 

-:-  UNION  -:- 


And    Kmployment  Bureau 


UNION  OF  ALL  for  the  GOOD  OF  ALL 


•  &  co.  m 


Real  Estate  Agents 

AND   GENERAL  AUCTIONEERS. 

House    Brokers  Rent   Collectors 

FUI<I,  CHARGE  TAKEN  OF  PROPERTY 


14  Montgomery  Street 


San  Francisco,  Cal. 


CITY  AGENTS 
London  Assurance  Corporation  and  Northern  Assurance  Company. 


A 

OF     r- 

RSITY 


